Always Something
by Noise And Hammers
Summary: Follow up to "Of All Things." John comes home to something rather unusual for a day in the life, but what seems harmless always has a catch. One shot.


NOTE: A "sequel" of sorts, but still a oneshot. Just another recently developed plot bunny. And before you get worried, my faithful readers, _Emblazoned: Chapter 6_ will be up probably sometime this week, but no promises. Anyway, tally ho.

ALWAYS SOMETHING

John was pretty much used to coming home every day to find something spectacularly ridiculous going on, whether Sherlock happened to be there or not. Bubbling pots of God knows what on the stove, heated violin music over sounds of sirens on the telly, guns going off, things exploding-

The usual.

Since the addition of Rory, however, John decided to lay down just a few ground rules:

"You may not experiment on the cat."

"You may not use the cat as an accomplice for an experiment."

"You may not endanger the cat in any way, including taking him with us to crime scenes."

"You may not kill, hurt, or attempt to kill or hurt the cat."

"For God sakes, feed him while I'm not home."

And that was all. Easy enough. Yet every day John walked in the door with such a twinge of worry that he'd find a boiling pot of Rory on the stove, or vilolin music drowning out the howls of a dying kitten, or something to that wretched nature.

The case, however, was not so on that day, or any other day. The case on this day, to John's surprise, was something completely out of his ordinary.

"Welcome home, John."

Sherlock was sitting, curled up rather cozy on the couch in simply a blanket and a sheet, with an incredibly happy ball of fur contentedly tucked in his lap, purring like a motor.

"Erm...hey," John had said. He looked around. The flat was clean, void of any explosives or haphazardly strewn lab equipment, and Sherlock was smiling at him, stroking Rory's back absently.

"Everything...ok?" John asked, turning back to Sherlock.

"There's something we need to talk about," Sherlock said, his pleasant smile now retreating from his face to make way for his usual stern countenance.

The first thought that entered John's mind was _he's killed Rory and got a new cat that looks like him, and he's trying to make it up to me by being nice and cleaning the flat, _but John decided it was best to let Sherlock explain, however long that may take.

"I've concluded that even though we share Rory, he is in fact your cat," Sherlock said, picking up the animal in question and looking at him almost fondly. Rory mewed in response, which made a smile want to creep on John's face.

"I guess you could say that," John agreed with a shrug as he sat next to Sherlock on the couch. "Why does that matter?"

"Well since you've got a pet," Sherlock continued as he plopped Rory onto John's lap and stood, striding over to the mantle. "I got one too."

It was only then that John Watson noticed the cardboard box that sat on the mantle, that Sherlock now lovingly plucked up and approached him with. The box had holes, and was about the size of a textbook.

"Oh..."

John braced himself as Sherlock sat back down and began to pull out a silver cage. _A snake, a lizard, a bat, some exotic poisonous animal that'll destroy everything, a dragon, a pixie, a-_

"His name is Rosin."

A very tiny, very adorable, sandy brown hedgehog.

John sat back as Rory toddled up to the caged animal on Sherlock's lap and pawed curiously at the bars, to which Rosin responded with a tiny squeak and rolled over.

"He's a bit shy, but I've noticed he's very intelligent, and easy to train," Sherlock carried on as he opened the cage and Rosin flopped into his seemingly humungous hand. Sherlock held him and looked at him with a genuinely content smile before looking at John and saying in the most childish way John had ever heard him speak.

"Can I keep him?"

John stared blankly at the beady black eyes that peered up at him innocently for a long time before silently giving in and smiling. Sherlock would keep the pet even if John had said no, and by now, John Watson understood not to argue with his flat mate.

"What does he eat?"

"Vegetables and fruit mostly. He's particularly fond of peanuts as well."

"Right..."

Rosin rolled over onto his back in Sherlock's hand, and Sherlock, with a long finger, gently stroked Rosin's belly and smiled.

A thought occurred to John.

"It's illegal to have one of these as a pet, isn't it?" he asked, looking inquisitively at Sherlock. Sherlock shrugged.

"I suppose."

John sighed and grumbled.

"I knew there was something."

"There always is."


End file.
